Magnet Theory
by Sahara Storm
Summary: [Oneshot, TemaTen] A history that threatens to repeat itself; maybe it will. Or maybe it won't.


**Title:** Magnet Theory  
**Fandom:** Naruto  
**Pairing:** Temari/Tenten  
**Rating:** Hard R  
**Word Count:** 3,670  
**Summary/Description:** A history that threatens to repeat itself; maybe it will. Or maybe it won't.  
**Warning/Spoilers:** Yuri. Porn. : )  
**A/N:** Written for Vicky V for the Naruto Yuri Swap on LJ. A long time ago, I might add. Short and sort of vignette-y scenes that all come together. Hope you enjoy.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Naruto.

* * *

She's in Konoha again.

Tenten is travelling with surefooted steps and quick light jumps across the rooftops. The wind threads through her hair like snaky ribbons of speed, pulses through her clothes and saturates her skin in bountiful gusts. She breathes it in, feeling a little overwhelmed, but yet not wanting to stop, so she thrusts on ahead like she always does and that's when she sees her.

The blonde sand-nin perches on someone's window sill as if she belongs there, carved from the very same wood. She wears her massive fan and a secret smirk, and the look in her eyes might startle Tenten if she weren't so well trained. She looks speculative and sly and there is a predatory kind of gleam in her eye, glinting with the streaming rays of sunlight that cast their way down unto the village.

Temari is looking at her, but Tenten doesn't let their eyes meet. She flies past her, and the wind bursts through her hair and unravels it, letting it tumble down her back.

* * *

"Hmmm… you again."

Tenten senses her before she speaks; she feels that prickle at the back of her neck where soft hairs curl and stand on end; she feels her fists tightening reflexively, almost begging for the smooth hilt of a kunai or the steel of a shuriken. Several years have passed, and yet she still wants to prove herself.

"Yes?" she says politely, turning around, and setting her lunch beside her on the bench. Temari looks composed and beautiful in the breezy summer air; sunlit and striking. A hand curves on a jutted hip, and she is smirking. Tenten lifts her chin, almost spontaneously, as if those lips curving upward are a catalyst for her defiance.

The smirk widens more, if possible. Tenten breathes.

"Well, can't say I'm disappointed," Temari says almost airily, as the cyan of her eyes sweep up and down Tenten's frame.

At first, Tenten thinks she is talking about something completely different. A frown and blush compete for dominance on her face, but before she can offer her indignant reply, the blonde is striding off.

"Come on," she throws over her shoulder. "We have a mission to do."

It takes a minute for her words to catch up with Tenten's brain, and by the time they do, the weapons mistress is feeling no small amount of irritation. Who does she think she's ordering around, anyway? Tenten hurries after her, afternoon zephyrs whipping around her face and tousling her hair.

"What do you mean? Me and you? Why?"

Temari doesn't shorten her stride as she pulls a scroll out from somewhere in the vicinity of her cleavage and presses it into Tenten's hand. The paper is warm and her voice is brusque.

"If you want to read about the bureaucracy and the technicalities behind why they need a Sand kunoichi and a Leaf kunoichi for this, be my guest. Gaara and your Hokage seem set on it. In any case, we leave for the Mist in two hours."

Tenten reads the contents of the scroll quickly, trying to process the information while keeping up with Temari and following her words. It would not be so hard if not for the tight, dark feeling in her chest that she cannot put a name to. It blossoms and spreads out of nowhere, and her hand tightens around the scroll as she blurts out what she really wants to know.

"But why—"

"Why you and me?" Temari tilts her head to the side, shrugging, but her eyes are sharp and cool. "Who knows, but it may give you a chance to settle the score." A laugh pervades her words.

Tenten glares, and lifts her chin higher.

* * *

When they leave, it is already getting dark. The trees rush past them in a blur, the only sound the thump of their footsteps on thick wooden branches. Temari leads, just by a few metres, and Tenten knows it's silly, but she can't help but feel irked.

Leaves shake off the trees and seem to bump and cling to each other as they fall to the forest floor. Tenten is vaguely reminded of magnets.

* * *

"What are you _doing_?" Tenten hisses calmly through the other girl's fingers. The forest is almost unnaturally still, except for the thin murmurs of their breathing. Temari has Tenten pressed against the unyielding, scratchy bark of an old tree, and splinters are digging into her back even as sweat forms in neat little dots on her brow.

In response, Temari presses her hand more firmly against her mouth, not giving her room to move her lips, and all sound is muffled. Tenten narrows her eyes even as the Sand kunoichi does the same.

"Be quiet," she mouths, and her blue eyes cant to the left, and then upwards to the dark, leafy canopy of trees, and the inky black sky beyond. "There's someone passing."

Tenten goes on guard, her body stiffening. Somehow, the action makes her even more aware of the muscled lines and curves of Temari's body, pressing into her skin. She ignores it, holding her breath and pursing her lips together so tightly she feels the blood run from them. Her eyes flit about the dark clearing where they have made camp, and so do Temari's; cyan bright and animated.

She feels it when the presence above them moves on, and moves to push Temari away, but the Sand kunoichi is already gone, sitting near the low fire. She picks up her giant fan, and resumes cleaning it with slow, strong efficient strokes of a woollen cloth.

Tenten glares.

"Was that really necessary?"

The blonde doesn't even deign to look up; she does smirk, though, and Tenten's anger increases manifold. It is like her body and mind are a combined map of buttons, and Temari knows all the right ones to push.

"Yes. We're in enemy territory now, so it can't hurt to be careful." She dips the cloth in some oil, and glances up. The picture of Tenten standing with her hands on her hips and her mouth fixed into a line seemingly makes her smirk even more. "They didn't see us," she adds. "I'm sure of it."

Tenten frowns more. It feels like a pout, but she doesn't care.

"And that?" She jerks her head to the tree where Temari had pushed into her, making her sweat and feel dizzy and strange.

The blonde's head is bent, but Tenten can almost feel her smiling.

"Yeah, that was necessary too."

* * *

The enemy nin are quick, but Tenten is quicker. The long skirt and broad sleeves of the ceremonial kimono are nothing, not even a hindrance as she sweeps and swirls across the courtyard, fingers dancing with kunai and shuriken. The disguises were necessary to get into the temple, and she and Temari sparred a few times in them earlier in the day, just to accustom themselves to the movement and the feel. They never allowed the other to win any of their fights; it always ended in a stalemate that made Tenten feel surprisingly bitter.

A volley of needles blurs into life on a path for Tenten's chest; the whirring blades of a fuuma shuriken easily smash them to splinters. They clatter to the cold stone floor, and Tenten's attacker is dead before he can summon more.

A sharp, harsh wind cuts through the air, and Tenten manoeuvres out of its path effortlessly, letting it do its damage. Temari is regal and animalistic all at once, her skirt spread and flying wildly in the whirlwind of her fan, barely resting against her legs.

The enemy keeps coming, and Tenten waits to meet them, a summoning scroll at the ready, her fingers twitching to use it, to vault into the air and kiss the sky, to slap the warm parchment, feeling weapons as familiar as friends materialise into her hands, to guide them home to their targets. She spins out of the way of another of Temari's gales, calculating how many scrolls and how many weapons she will need to deal with the advancing guard of Mist ninja.

It rankles Tenten to find that they work well together, she and Temari; it was almost child's play for them to get past the Mist's borders, procure the information needed, and advance towards the temple. Easier still for them to work their way around each other in this cramped courtyard, letting their attacks fly past each other and slice through their enemies. Maybe it's because they fought each other before. Maybe it's not. The thinking of it drives Tenten to distraction.

A pity, for the next time Temari's fan summons a huge gust of air, Tenten is not quick enough. It sweeps her off her feet, and into the air, and she curses herself and the Sand kunoichi as she rises and falls with the wind, trying to right herself so she can land on her feet.

She lands on the iron tip of the fan, feet poised and eyes wide.

Temari smirks up at her.

"Feels a little bit like déjà vu," she remarks, not even blinking at the nin rushing towards them.

Tenten grits her teeth, and doesn't reply. She whips out her scrolls, unravelling them in the wind as she pivots into the air.

* * *

Temari is playing with magnets.

In essence, anyway. She sits close to the fire, two kunai with magnetised hilts twirling on her fingers. Every now and then she will push the hilts together with the same poles facing each other, watching them struggling and pushing against touch, stubbornly refusing to exist in the same space, to coincide. Then Tenten watches as she flips one of the kunai over, and they click together, quick and smooth and easy.

She is watching her out of the corner of her eye.

"Good job, Tenten-chan," Temari says casually. She pats the package where the stolen sword lies.

Tenten glares and snorts and shrugs all at once, and she's sure she must look like an idiot. She turns away, and resumes cleaning her weapons.

"I still don't understand why this mission required specifically the two of us," she says, caressing the steel lines of a shuriken. When Temari doesn't answer, she looks up, and sees that the other girl is looking at her with an unreadable look in her eyes. And then she chuckles, low and warm, and Tenten is infuriated all over again.

"I want a rematch," she says abruptly, throwing down the cleaning cloth and staring stonily across the clearing. Temari is still toying with the magnets, now watching them struggle again, testing the tension in the small width of space between them. To Tenten's surprise, she doesn't smirk or laugh or scoff. She tilts her head, and then nods and shrugs as if to say 'fine by me'. Pleased, even. She looks pleased, and Tenten wonders why that is.

No matter, though. She is going to have her rematch, and she is going to prove herself and she will wipe that unforgiving smirk off of the Sand kunoichi's face, and perhaps get rid of this feeling that creates whirlwinds in her chest and sleepy butterflies in her stomach and thudding beats of her heart.

She picks up her cleaning cloth, and on the other side of the clearing, the magnets click together again.

* * *

The rustling is loud and deliberate, and it couldn't be someone trying to sneak up on them or ambush them, but Tenten is flying up from sleep with a kunai firmly in her grasp anyway, ready to face the intruder.

It is Temari.

It is Temari, haloed by the yellow moon above with her hair falling shaggy and dark blonde around her shoulders, looming above Tenten on the small cot, eyes, narrowed and intent. Her clothes are loose around her, her shirt slipping off her shoulder, and the dark valley between her breasts coming bare. A breath catches in Tenten's throat and threatens to strangle her, not knowing whether to go up or down.

"What are you doing?" she hisses. "Stop!"

The kunai is under Temari's chin before she can stop herself, and her eyes widen when the other girl doesn't move away, but presses into the cold metal touch. Tenten can see the pulse pounding away in her neck, warm and flushed with blood even in this midnight air. Her dusty desert skin is alive with light.

"Not still lying to yourself, are you?" she mouths, lips so close that Tenten is inhaling the breath she exhales. She moves closer, and Tenten feels when the kunai pierces her skin, ripping delicately through Temari's flesh. It is a shallow cut, and Temari makes not a sound, but Tenten gasps as if the wound was her own.

Blood drips onto the corner of her mouth and she licks it away without a thought. Temari smirks and Tenten's eyes blaze.

"Get _off_," she says, more firmly, moving her hand so that the kunai is against Temari's arm. She doesn't want to kill her by accident. She doesn't want—she doesn't know what she wants. "I'm serious."

That infuriating smile.

"_Make_ me," Temari says, and kisses her harder than she's ever been kissed before, lips warm and chapped and grating against hers with an insistence she's never known. The kunai slips, making a gash in Temari's arm, but she doesn't stop kissing her. A hand tangles its way into the deep of Tenten's hair, undoing her braids, pressing into her scalp and massaging it roughly. Tenten grapples back, needing to hold on to something other than the knife in her hand, and ends up capturing a fistful of coarse blonde hair and pulling.

It takes her a while to realise that she is kissing back just as hard, tongue twisting and stabbing with fervour, lips bruising.

The knowledge makes her red with embarrassment and an unknown anger. She gathers all of her strength and flips then over. Temari's back hits the grassy forest floor with a muted thud, and she looks over at Tenten with shock and pleasure; Tenten whose breath is rushing in and out of her lungs, whose hair has come undone in a tumble of curls around her back and shoulders, who is looking at her with anger and indecision and what she will not name as lust. She eyes Temari's red lips, and then her blue eyes, and she knows that what she should do is wrench herself away and sequester herself in a more secluded part of the clearing, away from her desires and her needs and her goals and everything else that Temari symbolises. Still, she hovers, undecided.

Temari makes the choice for her, grabbing her by the neck so hard that her fingernails dig in and make her bleed. There is no pain, or maybe she just can't feel it, since all she can feel now is Temari's mouth searing into her skin, creating a frisson of tension and pleasure that spreads from her lips to her fingertips. The blonde pulls away, but it is only to nip her way down Tenten's neck and throat, pulling at the skin until it rises red and wet and fettered with goose bumps. She claws Tenten's shirt open, and then rips at the bindings to her breasts until they swing free. Cold night air floods over them, and Tenten tries to bite back a moan, and wonders why it feels like she is fighting a losing battle even from above.

Temari takes advantage of her distraction to reverse their positions again. Tenten feels the damp of the grass on her bare back, and Temari gets rid of her shirt as well. She presses their chests together, rough and purposeful and hot all over, making Tenten dizzy with how good it feels. Her nipples are harder than ever before, and she grits her teeth and presses back, wanting more of that warmth and friction, the unbelievable tension that she could almost reach out and grasp.

They kiss again, teeth clacking and biting and drawing blood. Tenten runs her tongue over Temari's split lip, feeling the other girl gasp and revelling in the tiny sound. Her hands want to touch more, feel more, so she lets them roam where they may; over curved shoulders, down arms corded with firm muscles, cupping full breasts and teasing stiff nipples. Every moan that she drags from Temari's lips is a jolt to her stomach; every pump of her hips a small victory. She kisses fiercely in exhilaration, biting and drawing more blood.

Temari's fingers are feeling their way around her stomach, flirting with the distance between her breasts and the apex of her thighs, coming feather close to both but touching neither. Tenten writhes, mind going in all directions that loop and circle and come back to one place: touch. She wants to touch and be touched until this desire washes away in waves.

Temari grips her hip with a firm, domineering hand, thumb drawing hot, electrifying circles on and around her hipbone. Tenten's face is burning with her blush; her hips jump, and her pants feel more uncomfortable by the second. She grabs Temari's hand, trying to push it where she wants, towards her centre. Her only reward is a sharp bite on her shoulder, and then another on her nipple. She pushes towards the touch, her gasp cutting off short when Temari begins to suck and swirl her tongue.

Ecstasy builds alongside frustration as her legs twist together fruitlessly. Temari begins pulling her pants and underwear down her legs; quickly, but not quickly enough. They are only at her knees when Tenten pulls the other girl up for a bruising kiss, rolling them over as she does, straddling Temari. A low chuckle sounds in the blonde's throat, and Tenten kisses harder to muffle the sound.

Temari's hands are still flitting like fireflies on the skin of her stomach, but now they travel lower, and lower, tickling that sensitive spot between her pubis and her navel, leaving trails of fire where she goes, until Tenten squeezes her eyes shut with all her might, sure that she is going to come right then and there. The hand breezes away, though, and Tenten's stomach folds and contracts, and her nerve endings tingle until they hurt and she glares down at Temari, hard. The blonde is panting and smirking at the same time, and before Tenten can protest, she kisses the words right out of her mouth.

"Stop that," Tenten murmurs hotly against her lips, biting her tongue. "Just… just…"

"Heh… alright," is the husky answer that travels from her lips to her ear in a warm wash of breath. Tenten fumbles her way onto her knees, one on either side of Temari's waist, and it's nothing short of amazing when those dusty fingers stop their teasing and rub firmly along the slit of her entrance before delving in.

Tenten's fingers are leaving deep crescents in Temari's shoulders, but neither of them care. Tenten drives herself down against the feeling of fullness, rocking her hips, biting her lips to quell the feverish noises she makes. Temari's hips buck up against her, and instinctively, she knows what she wants. Tenten snakes a hand down, and her thumb delves to find Temari's clit, and her fingers slide into her, and it is all so hot Tenten feels as if she is going to spontaneously combust.

White hot sparks set off and spread low in her stomach. Temari pinches Tenten's nipples, making her breath come faster. She looks so beautiful in the moonlight, skin dusty brown, dark blonde hair spilling like sand and desire across her shoulders and the grass, blue eyes like love. When the tight feeling in her chest comes again, Tenten knows exactly where to place it, and what to call it.

Temari twists her fingers, once, twice, savage and deep, and Tenten comes with a muffled cry, leaning down to yell her pleasure into Temari's chest, licking and biting senselessly at the skin. A few moments later, Temari tightens around her fingers, and then her body is bucking and shaking, all the breath coming out of her in a long, lusty moan.

They fall against each other, first Tenten on top of Temari, and then they shift so that they lie side by side, so close that not even the moonlight can part them. Temari presses warm dry kisses all over Tenten's face and chest, covering the bruises and bites with her tongue. An overwhelming feeling is blossoming in her chest, but she does not have time to pick it apart or analyse it, because her eyes are heavy and they are due back in Konoha tomorrow.

The last thing Tenten thinks before sleep claims her is that she had been waiting before this. She had been waiting, but she didn't know, just like she didn't know she wanted to fight her again.

She wonders if history will repeat itself.

* * *

She opens her eyes to a smirk.

Temari is idly playing with a lock of her hair, eyes lazy and hooded. Bright morning sunlight filters into the clearing, setting the blonde's hair aflame, and facing her like this, in the broad rays of daylight, nothing to hide and nothing to say, all Tenten wants to do is push away, to repel.

Temari seems to sense it. Without a word, her arms curve around Tenten's waist, turning her until she is facing away. She spoons against her, letting her pelvis rest against Tenten's rear, clearing the mass of chestnut hair out of the way so that she can kiss her neck and nip at it, and Tenten is immediately at ease, amazed at how easily they fit together. She reaches back to put a hand on Temari's hip; it is warm.

_Click_.

"I'm looking forward to that rematch more than ever now," Temari murmurs, a playful smirk in her voice.

Tenten's heart thumps once. She is, too.


End file.
